


Five Excuses to Touch Each Other

by Eyrian



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Five Times, Forbidden Love, Kissing, Royai - Freeform, Sexual Tension, forbidden relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25759363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eyrian/pseuds/Eyrian
Summary: Five times Roy and Riza found ways to touch each other without repercussions. Canon-compliant. Rated M for later chapters.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 25
Kudos: 161





	1. Goodbye

Riza's hands pruned in the dishwater. She kept her hair pined at the top of her head and out of her face, occasionally brushing stray strands aside with her shoulder. The window over the sink brought a gentle breeze, a relief from the humidity of the summer night indoors. With her back to the rest of the house and her face to the dusk falling in the field out the window, she felt a rare sense of peace. A few crickets serenaded her, and she decided she would miss the sound if she ever left this place.

When she heard a shout from upstairs, she slipped and almost dropped a plate. She stayed still in order to figure out what the fight was about. The words were muffled, but she heard a few words like "unreasonable" and "dictator." The words were Roy's of course. Her father never raised his voice, but Roy was prone to frequent and harmless bursts of anger.

Though the fighting always made her heart race, a part of her enjoyed it when he lost his temper. This house was ruled by a silent authority, and she had never dared to question any of it. She did her part to maintain the quiet status quo. Yet Roy protested often, and she usually agreed with whatever he was shouting about and sometimes wondered if his anger was ever on her behalf.

She tip-toed out of the kitchen to see if she could hear more of what they were fighting about, but when she was in earshot, all she heard were doors slamming then someone walking down the stairs. She shot back to the sink and resumed her dishwashing before the steps landed on the ground floor. She didn't look up when someone came into the kitchen.

"Riza," her father barked from behind her, his voice louder and sharper than normal.

She started, even though she'd known he was there, and turned around. "Yes, sir?"

"My student will be leaving us in the morning. Please gather any of his possessions from around the house or the clothesline and deposit them outside his door."

Her eyes widened in fear, but she only nodded her assent. Her father, always a man of few words, left as abruptly as he'd arrived. Once alone, she covered her mouth with one soggy hand, shaken by the command and its explanation. She took ten seconds to process and contemplate the loss of her favorite member of the house.

Then she sprung into action and gathered his things as fast as she could, eager to get to his room. He only had a few clothes on the line, and three books in the library were actually his. She walked lightly up the stairs, avoiding the creakier steps, and paused in front of his doors. It was indecent to just enter, but she didn't want to her father to hear her knock.

So, she borrowed a trick from the neighborhood cat and ran one finger nail down the door.

Roy opened, looking confused, but his eyes widened when he saw Riza standing with all his positions. She held a finger up to her lips, and he nodded in agreement then stepped aside to let her in. She walked to his dresser and placed his belongings on it, noting his suitcase open on his bed and feeling a twist inside. He closed the door 

"Are you really going?" she whispered after facing him again.

Roy looked pained, probably already regretting his outburst earlier. But he nodded. He replied, also whispering, "I wish I didn't have to leave so _immediately_ , but that's his decision. I…" He scratched the back of his neck. "I told him I'm joining the military."

Riza winced. She'd heard her father's position on the military and its "dogs" before. She sat on the bed next to the suitcase, feeling defeated. "Well. There's nothing we can do to change his mind, then."

Still looking pained, Roy put his suitcase on the floor and sat next to her. "I'm sorry, Riza. I hate to leave you alone with him…"

It was the closest he'd come to commenting on what it must be like as Master Hawkeye's daughter.

"Don't worry, Roy. I was alone with him before you, you know."

"I know. I don't mean you can't… I just wish…"

They both let the conversation drift into silence.

She stared at his suitcase and hated the finality of seeing it open and half-full of his possessions. This wasn't an empty threat of her father's. If Roy was really joining the military, then he was going to leave soon anyway. His early banishment was just rushing the inevitable.

She sighed. "Well, do you know if you ever-"

Roy pressed his hand over her mouth and stared at the door. Her father's door opened, and they heard the boards creak as he passed, walking by Roy's room. Her heart thudded in her ears, in fear. If she was caught in Roy's room, she'd be kicked out as well. Worse, if she was caught with Roy's hand on her like this…

She looked away from the door and at Roy's face. He was watching the light under the doorway, his face serious like when he's studying an equation and about to unlock it. The proximity, the warmth, the familiarity of his expressions, and the feel of his skin on her mouth flush her mind with all the growing feels for him that had been building for years now.

Yes, she knew it was a crush, and they were both teenagers. She knew he was the only man who paid any attention to her, and her father had forbidden any familiarity between the two of them. So, she'd kept it to herself, and if Roy had felt the same way, he'd done the same.

But he was leaving in the morning.

He caught her eyes and slowly lowered his hand. He mouthed "sorry." They held each other's gaze, and she saw his Adam's apple fall and rise.

"You're leaving in the morning," she whispered. Not a question. She was setting the stage.

He nodded, and she felt a flood of victory when she saw his eyes drop to her lips briefly then back into her eyes. He was thinking the same thing.

They had spent all this time so intentionally not touching each other, not invoking Master Hawkeye's wrath, that the absence of touch had become unnatural and awkward. Her father wouldn't hesitate to let their fingers touch when he handed her his dinner plate, but Roy wouldn't hand her anything. He always set things near her. He ducked into a different room when they passed in the hallway.

But now, he'd had his hand on her mouth, and it had fallen on her arm when he'd pulled it away.

She stood in fear at what she felt tempted to do and walked to the door. With her hand on the knob, she froze. A different fear washed over her - a fear of spending the rest of her life regretting this moment if she didn't ask. She turned around. He stood up and took a step towards her.

"Will you do something for me before I leave?" she asked, her voice too low for anyone but him to hear.

His eyes were still fixated on her, and she felt her face grow warm and her stomach twist.

"Anything, Riza." His voice was so low, and she could feel it reverberate all over her.

"We'll probably never see each other again."

"We might not," he agreed, stepping closer.

"Will you…"

Her breathing quickened in anticipation and slight dread. He stood in front of her with only a few inches between them. She was a foot shorter than him and had to crane her neck up to look at him.

"Roy, will you…"

He dipped his head lower, inches from hers, and her mouth parted automatically, instinctively.

Finally, he kissed her. Finally, after dreaming of it for night after night, she pressed herself against and wrapped her arms around his waist. One of his hands cupped the back of her head and the other caressed her neck. His lips were soft and gentle and perfect. She had not realized how hungry she was for this until now with this first taste. She rocked slightly on her feet, dizzying from the sensation, and the hand on her neck slipped behind her back to hold her steady. 

Roy tipped her head back even more, opening her mouth and sliding his tongue inside. Her stomach tightened and a feeling spread down her abdomen and nestled between her legs, a feeling she'd only ever explored alone in her room. Shame flushed her cheeks, and she pulled away quickly.

He was startled and concerned. "Riza? I'm sorry, did I-"

"No. No, um. Thank you."

She twisted the knob behind her and pulled the door open. He took a step back to let her open the door.

"Riza, I -"

"Goodbye, Roy," she whispered and stepped into the hallway with one last look at his face, vulnerable and confused, before closing the door.


	2. Medically Necessary

When Havoc asked what his plans were to start the weekend, it worried Roy how effortlessly and convincingly he could lie, so long as he justified it as for a good cause.

"I'm working late, then I have a date," he answered without looking up from the letter he was writing.

Havoc grinned, and Roy worried, once again, that the man sometimes lived vicariously through Roy's love life, fake though it was.

"Ooh, what's she like?"

"She minds her own business unlike some officers I know."

Havoc laughed then shrugged. "Well, I have a potential date tonight. If it works out, let's swap stories on Monday."

He'd have to decide later if that would promote team bonding and his reputation or if it'd just make Havoc too familiar with Roy's personal life. So, instead, he just smirked and continued writing.

As far as he knew, Roy had no tell. To keep himself in line, he committed himself to complete openness and honesty with the gun at his back, Lieutenant Hawkeye. He never explicitly promised her that he'd never tell her a lie, but it was a personal commitment to always include her in his plans and schemes. Justifying a "good cause" for a lie came too naturally. He was one step away from deciding his own happiness was a good cause. He needed a safeguard from that step.

When it came to tonight's plans, however, she already knew. He peeked over at her desk. She was waiting for him to see her, so she could nod subtly to him then say to Havoc, "Catalina and I are going to the Dragon's Claw, but I suspect she'll want to stay out later than me."

"Catalina?" Breda asked. "Is that your intimidating friend from the academy?"

Riza tapped a pile of papers on her desk to smooth out the stack. "That's certainly a more accurate description than others I've heard."

"I called her cute!" Havoc protested. "How is that inaccurate?"

Annoyed, Roy interrupted. "It's demeaning. Do not use language like that about fellow officers. I expect better."

The room quieted as Havoc flushed. He nodded, humbled, and grabbed the coat off the back of his chair. "Understood, sir. Hawkeye, please convey my apology to Catalina if she's aware of my comment. I meant nothing other than praise, and I'm sorry if I gave the opposite impression."

Impressed, Riza raised an eyebrow. "I will."

Breda shook his head with a smile and slapped Havoc on the back, walking in step with him as they both left for the evening. "There's hope for you yet, it seems."

Fuery and Falman were doing extra training on new comm tools and had been out of the office all week, so only Riza and Roy were left.

"Do you want me to drive you to my place or yours?" Roy asked, once the door closed behind the others.

"I'm sorry, sir." She turned around and began filing envelopes in various outgoing boxes for interoffice, local, regional, and international mail. "I really am going somewhere with my friend. It's her birthday, and we'd planned it far in advance. It slipped my mind when I asked for help tonight."

"That's alright, Lieutenant. You know I'll just be home all night, so feel free to come over if you're not up too late. Just let yourself in. Otherwise, perhaps, I'll see you in the morning."

"I appreciate it." She smiled at him briefly then stepped out of the office.

\---

Roy sat on the short balcony at the back of his apartment. In one hand, he held a new-to-him book on the economy of Ishval, and in the other, he cupped a warm pipe that occasionally came to his lips. He'd never tell Havoc, or else he'd lose his right to criticize the subordinate officer's cigarette addiction. But when alone, this was how Roy relaxed. He'd carved a pipe with his alchemical circle on the bottom and installed a small ignition switch on the side, so he would never have to fiddle with a lighter. It took some practice to keep from burning the leaves to a crisp immediately, but it was now second nature.

He leaned his head back against the chair and looked up at the few stairs he could see through the city's light pollution. On crisp fall nights like this, he always thought of his days in Hawkeye Manor. The stars had been so much brighter there.

"Are you smoking, sir?"

He started at the sound of Riza's voice behind him but controlled his body language so that she wouldn't notice. Unexpected noises had made him jumpy since the war, and he didn't want anyone to see him as jumpy or weak.

"Yes, Lieutenant. You've uncovered my last secret."

She stepped out onto the balcony, and Roy heard the sound of heels clicking. Surprised, he lowered his gaze from the sky to observe Riza in a long, black dress with a high collar at the back but low in the front front. The material didn't cling suggestively, yet Roy still felt suggested. He nodded appreciatively.

"Well, you didn't have to get dressed up for me," he teased.

"Does Havoc know you smoke?"

He rolled his eyes and set his book and pipe aside. "It's different. Cigarettes will kill you. Pipes just relax you."

"Mm. I don't think that's how it works, sir."

He grinned at her skeptical expression. "Either way, Havoc doesn't need to know. Wait, how are you here? Did I leave the door unlocked again?"

She only smiled in response. "Shall we go inside?"

"Yes." He still didn't know if she had broken in or walked in, but he stood and followed her back into the warmth. The night air wasn't exactly chilly, but there was a sense of relief to be out of the breeze. He could only imagine she felt the same with her calves so exposed. The bottom of the dress just barely covered her knees.

Riza pulled out a barstool since it was the only seat in his dining room. When he'd signed the lease for this furnished apartment, the barstools had excited him. He envisioned many nights spent drinking and socializing. In reality, all his late nights had been spent in the office, and these barstools had been so uncomfortable to sit on while eating that Roy ate all his meals on the floor.

For tonight, however, the height was just right. Riza sat on the stool and set her purse on the table next to her. "Thank you, sir."

"Of course," he said and meant it as a response more than he usually did. Of course, he would help her. Of course, he would share this burden. 

He unzipped the back of her dress until he could see the wound and the stitches on the lower right of her mid-back. "Hold the dress open," he ordered. He'd sterilized a set of scissors already and picked them off the table. He leaned forward to see better and carefully slid the scissors underneath the first stitch. He clipped experimentally then used his fingers to pinch and remove the threads.

"Oooh, that feels funny," Riza whispered as goosebumps spread across her skin. The sight of her physical response to something he was doing made him pause and notice how his bare hand was stretched over her back and how he could make out her ribs beneath his fingertips.

"Is it okay?" he asked, swallowing with a new nervousness.

"Yes. It doesn't hurt anymore. Does it look healed?"

He ran a light finger over the knife wound, hoping to get a response again. "Yes. It'll scar, of course. I did try to copy what the doctor did to your forehead, but I obviously lack the skill."

"It's not the first scar you've put on my back, and I'd rather have another one than let anyone else see me."

When he'd stitched her up a few weeks ago after a knife-fight-gone-wrong on a mission, the sight of the familiar burn marks on her back and flooded him with guilt, and sleeping had been difficult for a few nights afterward. But tonight, when all the wounds showed signs of healing, the familiarity provoked a warmth of affection instead of shame. Her scars connected them. He'd marked her, though not in any way he'd have chosen. But still, her body told the tale of them.

He tried to control the feelings wrestling within him as he removed the rest of the stitches. Once he'd pulled the last one out, he ran his palm across the wound site. Her shoulders rolled back, and her head tilted to the side slightly, as though she were relaxing.

He knew that the only thing happening right now was a superior officer providing aid to a subordinate and any touching happening was medically necessary. Or at least, it should be. But this close, he could smell her perfume and feel how soft her skin was over her ribs, a piece of her skin he'd never seen. He placed his other hand on her back and watched the goosebumps rise again. He stood and let his hands slide up to her neck. To his amazement, she let the weight of her head relax into his hands.

With his head just slightly over hers, he whispered into her hair, "Do you want me to take care of your forehead, too?" She nodded.

He grabbed the bottom of the stool and spun her around so that she was facing him, and he took a step forward so that he was between her legs. Her expression was hazy, but he smelled no alcohol on her breath. With his right hand, he placed his palm on her cheek then pushed her bangs out of her face. She only had two stitches on her hairline. She could remove them herself in the mirror, sure, but then how would he be able to stand this close to her while she wears this dress?

He placed his left hand on her bare back, and she arched into him instinctively, chest to chest, hip to hip. Her breathing came as quickly as his. When she noticed his eyes on her lips, her mouth opened slightly. 

"Riza," he whispered.

She knew every secret so that he could never get away with a lie, but this was the greatest of them all - that they were only Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye, that they hadn't spent their formative youth in each other's company, that they had never kissed in the same bedroom where he spent nights dreaming of her, that he considered her genderless, that he never ached to touch her again.

When she curled one leg around his, he dropped the hand on her forehead down to caress her thigh and keep it against him. Her eyes closed. He leaned forward until her nose brushed his. He wanted to stop playing pretend, stop the lying that happened every day in the office.

The neighbor next door slammed something against his wall, and they both startled. Her eyes locked into his for the brief second it took to assess the sound, presumably a hammer. She relaxed before he did. Half of his brain was jerked out of his fantasy that this could happen, but the other half remained and tightened the grip on her leg.

She could see the conflict in his face and pressed a hand to the side of his head. "Roy," she said. Was her tone consoling because she wanted him to know this was okay, or because she knew he was about to pull away?

When the neighbor knocked on the wall a second time, Roy flung himself backward and gripped the banister on the wall, eyes still locked on Riza.

Her legs fell to the ground slowly. She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. Roy's heart twisted.

She broke their gaze and grabbed her purse. "What kind of jerk hangs a picture at 2300 on a Friday, huh?"

Roy kept himself against the wall, afraid to move. He lowered his head to stare at the floor. His hair fell over his eyes so that he couldn't watch her leave but could only hear the click of her heels as she walked out the door.


	3. Undisguised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Riza and Rebecca's thoughts on gender and femininity are neither prescriptive nor reflective of my point of view.

Riza organized Roy's desk while she waited for him in his private office. Her time in the military had either eliminated her nervous habits like pacing or nail-biting or it had transformed them into something useful like turning fidgeting into organizing. And with a superior officer like Roy, nervous organizing always benefitted them both. The man had no order to this mess. At the bottom of one of his drawers, she found a stack of requisition papers they thought had gone missing two months ago.

She was testing all his pens when he came back to the room. As soon as she saw his face, she knew he had a disappointing meeting.

"It's not enough, Lieutenant," he said apologetically. "If she's not willing to come forward, they can't start an investigation on such a high profile superior officer with third-hand information."

With pursed lips, she put all his pens back in the holder. "I know. I was at least hoping they'd suggest something we could do to corroborate her story."

He put his hands in his pockets. Now, that had been _his_ nervous habit until it had become simply his habit. "Well, they didn't, but I did have an idea. Did you get a look at the form she referenced? How much information was on it?"

"Yes. She has the original submission by Gera June to apply for State Alchemist certification. He told her to burn it, but she hasn't. It was reviewed, signed, and denied by General Hubert. Attached to the submission are the exact theorems that the General just used to re-certify last month, but the form she showed me was from two months ago. He's changed some things, but it's undeniable, sir. General Hubert _did_ steal another alchemist's work, and if her hunch is right, he's been doing this for years. None of his research seemed to build on each other anyway."

Again, Roy's voice was sympathetic. "But none of this means anything if she won't turn over the document to the court martial's office."

Riza pulled one of the pens back out and began to tap at the desk, trying to keep her expression stilled and pinned on Roy. Her informant, Chelsea Rupie, was a sergeant in General Hubert's office. Her fear of open accusation made sense to Riza, but she also struggled to respect it. If Roy were corrupt, she wouldn't hesitate to risk herself to stop him. But not everyone had a relationship like theirs, and she had to remind herself of that often.

And yet, she was still determined to help Chelsea. "So, what's your idea?"

"Well, General Hubert is hosting a military banquet next week at his family's mansion. If he's taking work home with him, that means he's making copies somewhere. If we can get into his study and find any proof, would she be willing to come forward?"

"Hmm. She might."

Roy shrugged with his shoulders. "If she can submit it to the court martial office, Hughes can absolutely begin a formal investigation, and they may even have a warrant to go to his house. And…" He stepped forward and put his hands on his desk, running a gloved finger over the space Riza had just cleared. "If not, if you've seen both the original form and the copied notes in the study, you could testify to both. But I'd rather keep you out of this as much as possible."

She stood out of Roy's chair and stepped to the side. "Sir, you know I'm not afraid of the backlash."

Eyes still on his desk, he smirked and put his hands back in his pockets. "I know, Lieutenant. No one doubts your fearlessness." He met her eyes, through the fringe falling over his brow, with an indiscernible expression. "This is my preference. I don't want my subordinates involved in another office's politics."

"Yes, sir," she said. "How do we get to the banquet?"

"Oh, that part's easy." He crossed around to his seat, and she moved to the front of the desk. "We've been invited."

"We have?"

"Well, I have, and you can be my guest."

She cleared her throat as he flared out his coat and sat down. "Is that appropriate, sir?"

"Don't worry." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Banquets are somehow little loopholes in the military's anti-fraternization policies. So long as officers refrain from any 'untoward' behavior, they're expected to bring a partner from within the military if we don't have any significant others. Sometimes, they even let us dance." He rolled his eyes.

Riza assumed Roy's attitude stemmed from his general cynicism with the military, but an unbidden image came to mind of the two of them dancing. "Well, I don't… I've never been."

"Just wear formal attire, and follow my lead." He grabbed the paperwork she'd left on his desk, ordered with urgent tasks on top. "You're good at that."

-

After three hours spent showering, changing outfits, and attempting makeup, Riza stood in front of the mirror and told herself to stop wasting time. She'd settled on a red dress with a low-cut front, but the sleeves were long and tight, revealing her muscled arms. Her biceps seemed to detract from the whimsical swish of the lacey bottom half hanging loosely from her waist. Thankfully, there was enough material in the skirt of the dress to hide the pistol strapped to her thigh, but the cold metal on her skin didn't make her feel any more beautiful. She hated every dress she'd tried, but this was as good and as ridiculous as it was going to get. She was out of time.

With fifteen minutes before Roy told her he'd arrive to give her a ride, she picked up her phone and called Rebecca. She fingered her short hair self-consciously as she waited for the call to pick up.

"Rebecca speaking!"

"Oh, thank God you're home."

"Hey, Riza. I'm going on a date tonight. Can we chat when I get back?"

Riza hesitated and shook her head. On a Friday night, of course, Rebecca would be busy. "Oh. Yes. Sorry."

"Wait. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's _wrong_."

"I thought you wanted a catch-up call, and I wanted to give you more time, but if you were calling about something specific, please go ahead."

With a deep breath, Riza nodded, more as permission to herself than as a response to Rebecca's invitation. "Okay. I'm… wearing a dress right now."

"Ooh, I love you in a dress. It's been a little while, hasn't it?"

"Yeah, that's kind of the problem. I don't feel…" Riza sat down at table next to the phone and drummed her fingers on her bare knee. "I mean, you've convinced me to go out with you a few times, but I'm always following your lead. And honestly, it never feels right. I feel like I'm playacting how to be… a woman."

She winced remembering the last time they'd gone out and had a little to drink. She'd ended up at Roy's, his hands were on her bare skin as he pulled stitches out, and he had visibly shoved himself away from her. The sting of embarrassment flushed her cheeks again.

"I'm not this person. I don't wear dresses. This makeup looks like a joke, like I'm a clown, or -"

"Okay, slow down. Weren't you just dressed two weeks ago? For some… work thing?"

"I was undercover. That's different. I was intentionally not myself, and I went by the name Shallan. It was a disguise, but tonight's not a disguise, and it doesn't feel like _me_."

"Hmm." A bed squeaked on Rebecca's end, and Riza imagined her friend throwing herself back on her bed as she pondered Riza's quandry. "Okay, don't end this call before you tell me why exactly you're dolled up tonight, but before we get to that… So, there's two possible reasons you're uncomfortable right now. The first is that you're just not this person, you don't have a feminine side, and you should embrace that and stop forcing yourself to wear dresses. That's likely. And the other is that you've not had your feminine side cultivated or encouraged, and it makes you doubt your womanhood. Maybe you've spent too long in uniform or something. Do either of those ring a bell?"

Riza leaned forward and closed her eyes, struck by the word "womanhood." Naturally, she thought of her mother, a picture of traditional femininity. She remembered her mother aproned and long-haired in the kitchen, preparing meals for the three of them. They also went on walks often just the two of them, and her mother would teach her the names of trees and birds.

But her mother also kept silent when Father spent so much on his research that they had to start skipping meals. She turned away when he yelled at Riza and never lifted a hand to protect her daughter when his moods became violent.

After her mother's funeral, Riza cut her hair for the first time.

None of this gave her an answer.

"I don't know, Becca. How can I tell?"

"Well, are there things that you do that make you _feel_ feminine? And do you like it when you feel that way?"

"Um. Help me out. What makes you feel that way?"

"Well, shoot, Riza," Rebecca laughed. "I hadn't thought about it. Hmm. I think I feel feminine when I wear a new outfit for the first time. It makes me aware of my body, you know? Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I also feel really feminine when I'm at the range."

"Really?!" Riza sat up straight in surprise.

"Yes! Think about it. We have to be completely conscious of our entire body and our breath. I just feel really connected to myself. I'm in possession of me. Then when you get the bullseye, it just feels like a victory of self. Haven't you felt that way?"

With her elbow on the table, she rested her free hand in her own palm. "Well, what you're describing is familiar, but I've never thought of it as femininity. It's always just been a grounding, powerful feeling."

"Then maybe what you need to think about is when else do you feel that way."

She nodded into her palm. "That's a good thought, Becca."

"Oh, and one other thing to consider, especially related to the dress. Do you think of yourself as beautiful? Like, do you give yourself permission to be and feel beautiful?"

Her mouth went dry. "Oh." Memories from her youth bubbled up - _boys calling her gross, girls raising their eyebrows at her hair, her father shouting at her when she asked for money for clothes_ \- but she shoved them back down as soon as she realized the answer. "No."

"Is there a chance that you don't feel confident in a dress because you don't feel like… beautiful or enough on your own? Did it ever rub you the wrong way when we went out together?"

Perhaps it had been a mistake to try to analyze this minutes before Roy was going to be at her door. She felt small and realized she'd crossed an arm over herself protectively. "No, I always felt like it was okay because you were there. I felt like I didn't stand out."

"It's okay for you to stand out, Riza. You're genuinely beautiful."

"Th-thank you, Becca. I'll call you later tonight, okay?"

"Wait, you didn't tell me why you're dressed up."

Riza smirked. "Well, that's your incentive to make sure you talk to me tonight."

Rebecca groaned, and Riza hung up, walking back to her mirror.

She tried to think through their conversation while staring at her reflection, but she heard a knock at the door. She ran her fingers through her hair one last time and took a deep breath.

"Just pretend Rebecca is with you," she whispered, pushing her shoulders back.

When she grabbed her purse and opened the door, Roy was leaning against the wall across the hallway, looking at his pocket watch. She envied how easily he wore the three-piece suit and lounged without a trace of nerves. 

"Sorry, I just had to grab something."

His eyes snapped up to her at the sound of her voice, but he didn't move or speak. He just stared, his eyes roaming up from her face down to her red heels. Uncomfortable, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She wanted to interpret his gaze as a compliment, but the silence made her self-conscious.

"Sir?"

He blinked, and a blush spread to his cheeks. Straightening up, he cleared his throat and put the watch away. "No, yes, of course. You look - well, this is perfect. Just right." He scratched the back of his head and looked down the hallway to the exit.

Her own face flushed, but she hid it by turning around to lock her door. He was rarely so discomposed, but she hoped it had more to do with attraction than discomfort at seeing his reserved Lieutenant embarrass herself.

-

She drove his car while he went over the plan. The night was just cool enough that they kept the windows cracked, and a breeze kicked up the skirt of her dress every few minutes. She loved the feel of the fabric rubbing her bare legs.

Roy slid on plain gloves as they approached the mansion. "I think the only element left unplanned is when to both step away without drawing attention."

"Do you know if any kind of speech will be given?"

"Yes, Brigadier General Thompson will be retiring this year. His career will likely be commemorated tonight. Alright, when that begins, slip away. Wait for me near the study's entrance. I'll meet you there shortly afterwards."

Riza nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I'll admit - I'm slightly nervous since Hubert's such higher rank, but I doubt this is the only time we'll have to undermine someone with seniority. So, it's more like 'first time jitters.'"

Riza parked the car and grabbed her purse. "I wanted to thank you, sir," she said as Roy reached for the door handle. He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. "You didn't doubt my assessment of Chelsea's report as valid."

"You know I trust you, Lieutenant." He turned away and exited the vehicle. She stepped out and walked to the back of the car, putting his keys in her purse. He took a step towards the entrance, and she waited a beat before following so that she would be in his shadow as usual.

He stopped and shook his head. "No, you're my guest tonight, Lieutenant. You can't walk behind me."

"Oh, yes," she said, but she felt like saying, "Oh, no." She'd counted on using him as a shield from others' eyes. Maybe there was something to Rebecca's question about permission to be beautiful. Remembering Rebecca, she put her shoulders back and tried to convince herself she was allowed to belong in this dress, to fit in at a banquet.

But Rebecca wasn't here, and Riza was with someone whose opinion had always mattered more, been louder to her heart, than even Rebecca.

"Sir?" she said softly right before they stepped inside, and she instinctively grabbed his arm to keep him from taking another step into the lighted foyer.

He stepped away from the door so that other guests could enter and pulled her with him out of the way. "Yes?" He watched her face with evident worry.

After a deep breath, she asked, "Do I look beautiful?"

The worry in his expression retreated. He didn't answer, and she felt pinned by a new dark intensity in eyes, rendered as still as his voice. He didn't say anything, but the longer he stared, the less he needed to. He put a hand on her arm and took a step closer. A shiver ran down her back.

"Hello?" The footman at the door called to them. "Are you alright? Can I help you?"

Roy still looked mute for a moment until he grinned and stepped back into the entry's light and out of dusk's shadow. "Yes, thank you. She was just fixing my tie."

"Right, just needed to make sure you're in the right place, sir. Names, please?"

"Colonel Roy Mustang and guest."

When they were ushered inside, Roy put a hand on her back as they passed by other officers and colleagues and said with the fake, chipper tone he used when pretending to flirt with General Armstrong, "The answer to your question, Lieutenant, is a painful yes."

-

They spent the evening at a table with some officers Roy knew and their guests. In order not to stand out, they took a few sips of their drinks, but neither of them finished a glass. Their companions, on the other hand, had several, toasting multiple times to the novelty of alcohol on the military's dime. Riza didn't know if any of the other officers had brought subordinates with them, but she certainly hoped not, based on the overly affectionate physical gestures she saw.

Decorum truly did mean a lot to her, and she spent a great deal of energy insisting on it in their office, placing discipline before leisure and expecting the same of the others. To see officers letting their guard down for one night made her uncomfortable. Lapses in conduct were lapses in judgement and should be exceptions, not a yearly habit.

Adding to her discomfort, no one recognized her. She'd definitely sat in meetings with many of them before, but the dress and makeup must be so contrary to their mental image of her that they had asked Roy who his guest was. Or maybe they had no mental image for her.

She studied each woman at the table, wondering if they felt feminine or if they were all doing a performance. To her relief, they were all wearing clothing of the same dress code as she and wore their makeup similarly. Yet she did notice she was the only woman at the table with short hair. Instead of making her feel self-conscious, she wondered if she could pull off, too.

She recalled the image of a girl with long, blonde hair in Resembool whose girlhood was uncompromised by her status as a "gearhead." 

Thankfully, their table companions' boisterous celebrations made it easy for her to slip away unnoticed when the toasting to Brigadier General Thompson began. She touched Roy's arm and said she just needed a moment, in case anyone listened anyway. He nodded and intentionally looked away to not draw any attention to her departure.

They'd studied house plans of multiple mansions in this part of Amestris, and they compared a few by the architect who'd built this particular one. Finding the study was going to be an educated guess, but she felt confident as she headed out of the main dining room.

From the foyer, now empty, Riza eyed the marbled staircase to the second floor. She slipped her heels off to avoid noise and climbed the steps. As expected, the top of the stairs ended in the middle of a hallway going straight left and right. She headed right and found an alcove at the end with a large wooden door. It was locked, so she would have to wait for Roy's help to enter and assess. She ducked into a recess and waited, hand hovering over the gun on her hip.

As she steadied her breath and counted the seconds, she finally replayed his answer to his question. "Painful yes." It stung, but not because her feelings hurt. She understood. Sometimes, watching him pained her as well. The wall between them was indestructible, and it needed to be, but it hurt every time she caught her affections for him crawling back to the surface and then had to remember he was off limits.

She shouldn't have asked him.

She heard unhurried steps approach and felt fairly confident she recognized his gait. Still, she waited, leaning leisurely against the wall with eyes closed as though she was drunk and dozing, in case it was someone else who'd question her presence in this corner of an upstairs hallway. When he came into view, she slowly opened one eye and saw him smirking.

"Come now, Lieutenant," he quipped. "We're on the job. Don't slack off."

She lolled her head forehead and hardened her gaze. "Yes, sir," she replied, irritation clearly lacing her words.

He grinned and pulled some chalk out of his pocket. "Oh, right, you're waiting for me." He examined the door and the walls around it before kneeling and drawing on the ground. When he placed a hand to the circle, a small two-foot slit opened next to the door and into the room beyond.

As he pulled out a handkerchief to erase the chalk, she slipped through and checked the inside. By the streetlight through the windows, she could see walls lined with shelves of dusty alchemical tools and a locked cabinet by a desk littered with papers. A moment later, Roy stepped inside and repeated the process to close the opening. She set her shoes near the door to remember to collect them before they left and went to the desk.

After he finished, she noticed he was squinting to see the room clearly. She worried for a second that he'd create more light at the risk of someone seeing below, but instead, he walked behind the desk and drew the curtains. With a snap, he lit a candle on the desk.

"This'll have to do," he whispered. "Anything more, and I think they'd be able to notice from the street."

They hadn't whispered in the hallway, but the darkness of the room and the secrecy of their search must have inspired a quieter tone. She simply nodded and began to check each piece of paper on the desk. They were all harmless letters and accounting ledgers. The first drawer opened easily and was only full of writing utensils and pictures. 

The bottom drawer had a lock, so Riza whispered, "Look for any keys."

He'd been checking the cabinet next to the desk but nodded at her request and moved to the front of the room, heading towards a credenza by the door. But the drawer opened easily when she pulled it. "Nevermind," she whispered.

The drawer was full of upright, unlabeled folders. Grabbing the candle with one hand, she bent over and fingered through them quickly to skim their contents for any suspicious ones. Yet in the very first folder, she saw research submissions. Could it be this easy?

"Colonel, look at this," she called to him, poking her head and the candle back above the desk.

Roy was standing with his ear to the door and one hand thrown in her direction with a finger held up. On the alert, she shut the drawer and stood, circling around to the other side of the desk. "Sir?" she whispered.

He whipped around and crossed the room quickly, eyes clearly communicating a problem. At one foot from her, he whispered, "Someone's coming."

From beneath the door, she could see a shadow growing on the threshold. She set the candle down behind her on the desk and swallowed deeply. They had a plan for explaining why they were in the hallway on their way back, but they didn't have one for if they got caught in the study.

Roy was looking at her expectantly, and it surprised her. Was he waiting for _her_ to make a plan? Keys rattled outside the door, and she felt afraid. Why was he leaving this to her? What good excuse could there be a for a State Alchemist to be alone in this locked room, let alone with his subordinate? And not just any State Alchemist - the Hero of Ishval, aspiring military darling and rumored philanderer - Oh.

"We need to be in a compromising situation," she said quietly.

As though he was waiting for her permission, he put his hands on her waist and turned the two of them around so that her back was to the door. Then he pressed one hand against her back, pulling her flush against him, and with the other hand he pulled her leg up around him, her long skirt still hiding her holster. Instinctively, she put her arms around his neck. The position was familiar, as though they were still in his apartment that night he pulled her stitches out.

"Kiss my cheek, then bury your face in my neck and stay bashful," he ordered, his expression schooled and somehow still professional, despite those words which sent a shiver down her spine.

She kissed his face hard enough for her lipstick to leave a mark then put her face in the crook of his neck. He dropped his mouth, warm and soft, against her bare shoulder.

The door opened, and Roy tightened his grip.

"Oh!" came the surprised voice from the door.

Roy moved the hand from her back and pressed it to the back of her head, keeping her face hidden. "Excuse me, sir," Roy said slowly. "I thought this room would be empty."

Someone chuckled. "Mustang? Well, the stories are true, you devil. How did you get into his locked study?"

If she knew Roy (and she did), he smirked. "Alchemy has many uses, General Tallong."

"Devil indeed." Another chuckle and then footsteps moving to one of the shelves. She heard the clink of bottles. "Well, he sent me here to get his favorite port, but what excuse will you give for being caught up here?"

"Well, sir, I'd certainly owe you a favor if you let him think this room was empty." He released her leg, which she let fall to the floor, and folded his hands together against her lower back.

"Could that favor be introducing me to your blonde friend here when you're done with her?"

He pulled her even closer and laughed. "I'll see what I can do." Riza knew he'd have to ask Chris Mustang if there were any girls willing to help him cover for this, and she hated the thought of one of them going near the apparently lecherous General Tallong.

"You'd have fun with me, too, wouldn't you, sweetheart?"

Roy raised a hand against the back of her head again. "She's awfully shy right now, but I'll bring her by sometime."

Tallong barked a wheezy laugh. "God, you dog. She's one of Hubert's girls, isn't she? Take your time, Mustang."

The door closed.

Riza did not move. Obviously, the implications by General Tallong were equally infuriating and disgusting, and yet she couldn't care about that more than she cared about having spent several minutes now pressed against Roy. Her shoulder still burned from where his mouth had touched her shoulder. She'd always wanted to wrap herself in his particular scent, and now she was doing just that. His hand was still in her hair, on her head, on her hip, and all judgmental thoughts about lapses in conduct had retreated into distant memory.

She realized they were both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling at the same rapid rate, adrenaline surging from being nearly caught.

Without moving the rest of her body, she turned her head to the side and whispered only, "Colonel?" She felt poised for another command, wanting to know what he would do next about their proximity.

If femininity was feeling grounded, aware of your body, _in_ your body, then this was her femininity: body against Roy's, mind trained on him, her will ready to obey his, heart ringing with his affirmation of her beauty. 

He turned his head until their faces were inches apart. Her mouth opened at the sight of his lidded eyes and the feel of his knuckles brushing against her cheekbones. She lifted her hands to run his hair through her fingers. Finally, he kissed her. Finally, she felt his lips firm against hers. Her face flushed from the contact and the heat of his breath. His hands roamed from her hair to the small of her back and back up to caress her neck. She raised up on her toes to make sure he felt her kissing him back, and then for extra measure, she slid her hands to his chest, grabbing at his shirt, and pressed him until he was leaning against the desk next to the candle.

"God," he gasped and grabbed her hips in both hands, keeping her body as tightly against his as possible. When he licked her lips, she opened her mouth wide and put her arms around his neck again. His right hand slid up to stroke her abdomen. The fabric was blissfully sheer enough that she could almost feel his fingers circling just below her breast. "This dress has been killing me all night, Riza."

Her heart thudded in her ears at the sound of her name, and she pulled her head away in shock. The shadows on his face emphasized the depth of desire in his expression. She teetered between a plunge past a point of no return and feeling jerked back to reality.

The door opened again. Their eyes widened in shock momentarily before she dropped her head against his chest.

"So sorry, Colonel! I promise I'm not trying to get a glimpse of something," Tallong chuckled. "I just needed to warn you that I promised I'd relock this door, so you'll have to exit using whatever method you entered."

Roy's laugh was polite but not as fakely amused as before. "That's fine, General."

"Again, sorry! Okay, goodnight."

When the door closed for the second time, Riza took two steps back. They were both panting and did their best to slow it down. Based on the degree to which Roy's hair and shirt were disheveled, Riza knew she must look like a mess. She ran a hand through her hair.

"Please go wait in the hallway," she said, desperately trying to crawl out of the hole they'd just fallen into. He raised his eyebrows, both hurt and surprised. "To cover for me," she clarified. "General Tallong will keep that hallway clear now. If he comes back, tell him I'm getting dressed."

As Roy understood what she meant, he collected himself and easily resumed his demeanor before their interruption. Watching him school his expression sent a pang through her. The resumed coldness pierced so deeply, hitting a vulnerable mark, that she knew this brief indulgence was not worth the ache she would now feel every time he called her "Lieutenant" from now on.

He nodded and straightened up, fixing his shirt. "Are you sure you can find it in this amount of time?"

"I actually think he's left it in an unlocked drawer in his desk. Could he be that careless?"

"If your informant was right about this being a pattern of his, he could have been doing this for decades. He might have gotten lazy." Roy shrugged. "Just read as much as you can to be sure."

"Yes, sir," she nodded and moved around to the other side of the desk as Roy pulled out his chalk again.

By candlelight, she read enough from the drawer to be sure that General Hubert had stolen from, not only Gera June, but several alchemist applicants for at least a decade. It would be enough to testify to Hughes, but she slipped a notebook out of her purse and jotted down a few key details just in case. She slid the drawer closed and blew out the candle. Before leaving, she put her heels back on.

After she slipped out of the opening in the wall, Roy used the circle he'd already prepared to close it. As he erased the chalk, she reported in code, "Let's stop by the office and call Hughes on the way back, Colonel."

He kept his gaze on the floor, still wiping away the chalk, as he answered, "We don't have to go all the way to the office. I have a phone at my place, if you're okay with going there, Lieutenant." The chalk was gone, but he kept wiping.

She closed her eyes and braced herself. "Thank you, Colonel, but I'd rather go to the office."

He pocketed his handkerchief and nodded. He stayed crouched over the floor for a tense moment in which Riza held her breath. She had always feared a breach in their professional relationship would sever the ease and trust they'd spent so much time establishing. If they couldn't get past this, if he couldn't let go, she dreaded the kinds of decisions she'd have to make.

"Of course," he said after a moment. He stood back up and stretched with an air of nonchalance. "Let's head that way, then. I'm getting tired of this banquet."

"Me too."

He put his hands in his pockets as they walked down the hallway. "Just promise me one thing, Lieutenant."

"What, sir?" she said. _Anything, sir,_ she stopped her traitorous heart from saying.

"We're _just_ going to make a call. That's all. You're not going to bother me about any paperwork."

"That sounds like a guilty conscience, Colonel."

"Unlikely. I've never felt guilty about paperwork in my life."

"It's never too late to start."

"Promise me, Lieutenant."

"I promise, sir."

When they reached the stairs, she grabbed the rail to steady herself as she walked down in heels. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roy raise a hand to help her then deftly shove it back in his pocket.


	4. Under An Influence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm annoying and take two months to decide to write another chapter

"Just follow the instructions step by step. They tell you exactly what you want," Riza encouraged. She had her back to Roy as she stirred something in a skillet. A savory, garlic smell filled the kitchen and furthered his distractibility.

"It may look that way to you," he countered, "but it looks like a maze to me. Grant writing uses different language than any other paperwork."

"Well, it does go to a different department."

He grabbed a page from the stack and waved it theatrically, even though she was clearly not looking. "Take this, for example! 'Budget period.' Is that the bottom line of a budget? Is that an elements in the budget's periodic table? Is it the maximum to be requested?"

When she answered, he could hear an amused smirk. "None of the above. It's the length of time the budget will be actively spent."

The more time they spent in casual environments like this, the less likely she was to add "sir." It intrigued him, but he felt ambivalent about its implications. Even watching her cook felt too domestic for him to process. The image pulled at him as much as he felt himself pushing it away.

"You are clearly more familiar with the verbage. Remind me why I'm the one writing it."

She reached for a bowl in the cabinet to her left. "Because you told me establishing more thorough standards for evaluating State Alchemists was too important and you had to do it yourself." She ladled whatever was in the skillet -something cheesy and mixed with pasta- into her bowl. "Because when our team protested about the extra work it would add to our department, you promised you'd take on the extra paperwork." Shoving a fork into the bowl, she set it at the table, pulled a stool out with a leg, and sat across from him. "And because you told Hughes you'd give him the full proposal to edit by next week."

"But that doesn't mean you can't he-" he began but left his mouth open when she interrupted him.

"And because you decided to tell General Armstrong that our 'surprise' visit to Briggs was intended to woo Major Miles to our team and didn't anticipate her locking us in this suite for the duration of the weekend."

He closed his mouth and raised an eyebrow.

"Sir," she added and took a bite.

The fact that she hadn't served him a bowl first relieved him. This wasn't the domestic scene of his wishes in which some partner was serving the other. Hawkeye had merely made enough dinner for the two of them. Since there was no food in front of him, he felt somehow freed to push back teasingly.

"Someone sounds edgy about being away from the shooting range this weekend."

The slight twist in her mouth indicated he'd been on point. "I was training for a competition."

He leaned back and looped his fingers behind his neck, "Then I don't know why you agreed to come on this trip with me."

She rolled her eyes and waited a few bites before responding. "I'm your bodyguard, sir. I also expected to be allowed use of the range here."

"I'll make it up to you," he insisted. "And hey, this is a far cry better than the last time I came here with Breda. The General found out we were meant to do an inspection their suppliers and vendors, took it personally, locked us in a small suite just like this, and left a radio on outside the door full blast. It played love songs on repeat. Breda couldn't look at me for two weeks."

When she grinned, he felt victorious and stood up to grab a bite to eat. The meal she'd made had some ground red meat in a red sauce and red noodles. Thankfully, the cheese on top was white or else he might have thought too much of his aunt's Blood Magic Soup. He noticed a bottle of aged whiskey on a shelf above the bowls and poured a few fingers into a short glass. Once he sat down again to eat, he found that the dish was far tastier than its monochroma suggested, and he enjoyed the whiskey, though it did not pair well.

He was tempted to offer to do the dishes, but again, he wanted to avoid a feeling of family life. So, instead, he sat back down to the grant proposal and continued to write. But when Riza rolled up her sleeves and began to wash the bowls, he realized his mistake. The sight stirred memories over a decade old.

"Would you place the whiskey over here?" he asked then kept his gaze on the papers in front of him.

After a while, the water turned off, and Riza brought a book out and sat on a couch near him. The living and dining spaces shared one spacious room, and a bedroom was set apart by a hallway where the two spaces met. Roy had already dropped his luggage in there, and Riza's was set near the couch, an established pattern from years of bickering about who slept where. Riza always won.

The sight of his lieutenant relaxing while he worked was rare enough that he paused to enjoy it. Recently, Hughes had accused him of anxious energy, and Roy had protested that Riza had more nervous energy than he did. But as he watched her take off her shoes and tuck her legs beneath her, he could see she was more comfortable with resting than he was. Even when he was falling behind on work in the office, it was usually due to overworking in other areas. To many in the administration, he came across as lazy because of this, but only Hughes had seen behind the ruse.

Riza, however, was always on task. She somehow did every duty required of her, kept up with his slack, and still followed him wherever he went. Yet here she was, curled up on the couch in her turtleneck and hair down, easily reading a book that had nothing to do with work. She could take a break. He stared indulgently, inappropriately, admiringly. He imagined it was his couch, and for dinner, she'd handed him his bowl of food. He'd told her to rest as he did the dishes. When he was done, he'd try to distract her. As he was imagining pulling her legs out from underneath her, she curled a bit of hair around her finger and smiled at something in her book.

He spoke to escape the silence and break his tension. "Did you read much when you were younger? I don't have many memories of you with a book."

She didn't lift her eyes from her page. "Because I read in my room where Father couldn't see."

"Oh, did he not like you reading?"

She paused for a moment as though finishing a sentence or a paragraph, then closed her book. "No, he did not. So, I hid the habit to keep him from forbidding me."

"Hmm. It always surprises me how someone so fixated on talent had no interest in cultivating your obvious ones."

If he didn't know her as well as he did, he would've missed the mild blush to her face. "Yes, well… It's lucky I was able to do that without him, I guess."

He nodded. "Do you ever feel like you went from one oppressive home to an even more regimented one? The military must have been no better than him. Actually, I could see it being much worse."

Head tilted slightly, she pondered his question. "No, I don't think so. Yes, the military is more thoroughly corrupt and therefore corrupting, but as far as being controlling, they are only concerned with our actions, not our intentions. Something may be illegal to do, but we can still want to do it without consequence. With Father, if he could tell I _wanted_ something I shouldn't, I could be punished for having the desire."

Roy shook his head. "I'm having a hard time imagining that. I'm also not sure I agree. The military calls for a certain caliber of character in its officers. And how could your father have known you wanted something without you doing it?"

Again, she took a moment to think, then she gestured to his whiskey. "Take alcohol for example. The military claims they want men of integrity, but certain lapses of judgement can be overlooked due to intoxication so long as the results are not lasting. However, that drunken lapse would look to my father the same as doing it sober."

"Hmm. There's a case for that. Just last week, I heard of a General who had a sexual encounter with his inferior officer, and they let him off because both parties had been drinking and the inferior officer filed no suits. Though I'm not sure that's really related to controlling intent?"

"Right, well, if you and I had done anything while drinking, Father would've seen that as us really wanting each other. The military doesn't care what we want, so long as we don't do anything about it."

He knew they were speaking in the hypothetical, but he also instantly remembered what she felt like pressed up against him, a sheer gown in his fist. He felt his face grow warm and looked down at his paperwork. "If we're sober," he clarified, reminding himself. Because they were both sober. Too sober. The reality of their situation and their future was always a third party in the room, reminding them of that the risk of dishonorable discharges were too high a price. There could be no repeats, and he had to survive a weekend in this small space with her. In fact, in order to behave himself, perhaps he'd better not drink again the rest of the time. He grabbed the base of the bottle with every intent to put it back in the cabinet, but her hand closed around its neck. He blinked.

She was standing next to him. Their eyes were both fixed on the bottle. He loosened his grip as she dragged it across the table and held it in front of her. He held his breath and searched her face.

"But if we're both drinking…" she whispered. He could see her breathing quicken as she contemplated what she was doing. The world froze, and adrenaline rushed through his system, excited at the mere potential of her suggestion. He didn't move a muscle, didn't dare to influence her either way.

Then for the first time in his life, Roy saw Riza begin to take a drink in front of him.

Before she could tilt the bottle back, he took it from her hands and placed it on the table. He stood and pulled her hips flush against his. "It was on your lips. That's enough," he whispered to protect the silent spell falling over them.

"But I didn't taste it," she replied. She held her shoulders back in the same controlled stance he saw every day, but he could feel the lower half of her torso melting against his.

"I can fix that." He placed one hand on the back of her neck and kissed her. A temptation to rush and push and tear filled him, but the urgency was misplaced. He would not hurry as though she might change her mind. She was allowed to. He instead gently pressed his lips against hers, his tongue along the opening of her mouth, and his fingers through her hair. Her shoulders dropped, and she wound her hands around his waist, clutching his shirt.

There was no master at the door to catch them, no neighbor to interrupt some heated mistake, no officer to answer to. They both tasted liked garlic; it made him want to laugh. 

As the impact of the moment and the possibility of where it could lead fell on him fully, his hands almost shook. Her neck was so soft, her moans so vivid, her nose against his cheek. She kissed him with such earnest desire. It was true, she wanted him, it was true. Her hands were on his shoulders and in his hair and now pushing his shirt untucked from his pants, and they had a whole weekend. He turned them so she was leaning against the table and he could lean against her.

She hopped on the table and began to unbutton his shirt. He leaned back for a moment to watch her complete the task. He felt full. Full and overflowing with all the affections he had never voiced, all the heart he'd carved out for her.

"Riza…I…for years, I..."

She froze as she undid the last button. A surge of fear stilled him as well. Was she changing her mind?

With a small shake of her head, she let go of his shirt and let it fall to his sides. She took a deep breath then met his gaze, her eyes twisted in pain. "We can't do that, Roy. Please. We can't go back from that." She slid her hands around his bare sides and pulled him into an embrace. He felt the fabric of her turtleneck against his chest. "We can't do that."

As he realized what she was saying, he felt something break, and all the urgency came flooding back. She didn't want him then. If she was rejecting his love, then he would take every other inch of her he could, stamping his name on each part. He gripped her hips, fingers curling tightly into her. He had to have her and claim her and make her belong to him as much as possible. He'd needed her for so long, and they were too close now for him to back down. She was offering her body, and he would have it.

She rubbed his back. "I'm sorry. I know. Please, believe me, Roy, I know." Her voice cracked and drew him back to his heart. 

He wrapped his arms around her in a proper embrace and buried his face in her neck. The horror he felt at what he'd just thought gave way quickly to a mourning. This moment was not supposed to be mixed with grief or anger. They were supposed to be together fully, open in every way. They were supposed to be in love and find only joy and vulnerability here. They were supposed to have the rest of their lives, not a stifled encounter in the icy north they would have to pretend never happened.

Already a damn was breaking, and he wanted the whole thing to explode. He wanted to give them both this freedom. He wanted an excuse to put his happiness before everything else and burn whatever bridges stopped them.

"I want you forever," he whispered.

She lifted his head and pressed her forehead against his. "You have me forever."

And that was enough, in whatever form it took.

-

He was in the soundest sleep, more satisfied and relaxed than he'd been in years, when he felt her lips on his back. Her bare chest pressed against his side as she kissed him softly, gently, repetitively. At first, he wondered if she was waking him for more, but he noticed the kisses were wet - wetter than normal.

And she was murmuring something.

He held his breath long enough to catch the three words she whispered after each tearful kiss. As soon as he understood, he rolled over and pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Hey, hey, hey, shhh. Riza, it's okay."

Her sobs were silent, but he felt her convulsing with them. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her back. Her tears dripped down his chest, and gods help him, but he immediately wondered if there was anything alchemy he could do to help her, to keep her from this.

"Riza, you were right, darling. We can't say that. We won't come back from it." He wanted to say more, but the words caught in his throat. He held her tighter.

She said nothing else for the rest of the night, and they slept the rest of the night in that position.

-

The next day, neither said a word about it. 

They only said "Roy" and "Riza", and not a word of "sir" or "Lieutenant." They didn't mention that they were trapped in Briggs, though they did finish Roy's grant proposal when Riza offered to lose an article of clothing for each section he wrote. (Since there were ten sections, she had to get inventive.) They didn't use the words "fraternization" or "dating." They didn't talk about the future or the past.

They memorized each others' bodies.

She found out that he was ticklish under his thighs.

He made breakfast and placed a plate of country hash browns in front of her before serving himself. He did the dishes while she sat next to him and told him about the favorite books she secretly read growing up.

They enjoyed taking turns being bossy in the bedroom, much the same way they did in the office.

When they took a shower, he cleaned her back, traced her scars, and told her she was beautiful. It overwhelmed them both enough that they didn't say anything else like that.

They had a wrestling match, and Roy asked her not to tell Havoc who won until they could have a "fair" rematch.

In the evening, the infamous radio was placed outside their door at full volume, and they danced together in various shades of dressed, though none of the songs were romantic.

She had him read her book out loud while she cleaned both of their weapons.

When they eventually decided to sleep, they found themselves in the same position as the night before, her arms around his shoulders, his around her waist.

Neither drank any whiskey.

-

When General Armstrong unlocked the door the next morning, they were both dressed and packed, waiting for her.

"It turns out Major Miles was busy all weekend," she lied with the same straight face she used for the truth. "I regret that we had to leave you in here all weekend, but we can't have you wondering around unattended, and unlike the East, we all work here."

Hawkeye, of course, smiled. "Thank you, General. We apologize for inconveniencing you."

Roy raised an eyebrow at the general. "Actually, Lieutenant, I think she's saying no one could spare the time to be inconvenienced by us in the first place."

General Armstrong looked pleased. "I'm surprised you decided to come again after last time, Colonel."

"Well, I need a writing retreat, and I thought no better way to stay focused and productive than trying to visit Briggs."

Her pleasure disappeared. "A writing retreat?"

Holding up his finished grant proposal, he tapped it with his other hand. "I knocked out a week's worth of tasks and should be far more productive now when we get back."

Stepping aside so they could finally exit the room, Armstrong rolled her eyes, "I doubt this was his attitude all weekend, Hawkeye, was it?"

"He did seem happy often, I'm sorry to tell you, General."

Mustang stopped next to their temporary captor and put a hand on her shoulder. "No, I truly am thankful to you. I almost said 'I love you' multiple times in the past two days."

They had to stop by a medic to put his arm in a sling before they could leave, but Roy didn't regret it, and neither did his Lieutenant.


End file.
